


This Traitor Heart

by Vrazdova



Category: Final Fantasy VI
Genre: Bloodplay, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-19
Updated: 2012-09-19
Packaged: 2017-11-14 15:30:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/516844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vrazdova/pseuds/Vrazdova
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Celes finds that <i>peace</i> and <i>love</i> are harder to reconcile with than she could've ever expected. It's difficult not to romanticize the uncertainty of the past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Traitor Heart

The summer night air is dry on her tongue as she breathes in deep, lips lightly parted. Closing her eyes, she sees still images – photograph-memories – all washed-out as though bleached by the light of someday long ago. She tries to push the thoughts away – _so inappropriate right now; why does she always get so distracted_ – but they sit before her like an open album, staring patiently and waiting for her to turn the page. _Her first uniform, hanging on the door; its collar was tight and the fabric itched terribly. The view from her old bedroom, overlooking iron scaffolding and footsoldiers on guard below._

So she opens her eyes, and the rush of physical sensation returning to her is so abrupt that it's nearly shocking. Hot and sticky skin, just beginning to sweat, shuddering against her own; her fingers clutching flesh and bedsheets as though to brace herself for the wave of ecstasy about to crash through her entire body. A moan and a fading sigh escape her lips as her chest heaves, and she looks down at the familiar face near the foot of the bed, grinning, sensuality gleaming in his eyes, as he slides himself up to greet her. With a light kiss, he enters, and she closes her eyes again.

* * *

_She's sitting on a ledge, back against a steel wall, reading a history text. Her hands are much smaller, her arms thinner – even with years of sword-training already behind her now, she is still young and has time to grow. The shadow of a man wearing a faded lab coat falls over her, and she looks up in question._

_"So, Celes. What do you think?" he asks, his voice friendly and fatherly._

_"About the infusion?" Celes' eyes linger on the book as she finishes reading a section of interest. "I'm still not sure."_

_The old man nods with a knowing smile. "I'll not pressure you for an answer; I was just curious as to your thoughts on it."_

_She enjoys his company, but regrets having been torn from her reading and longs to return to it. She obliges his conversation anyhow, the subject having been on her mind for weeks as well._

_"You're absolutely certain it's safe now? It's a perfect process?"_

_The man laughs. "My dear granddaughter, I could never put you in danger." He is not her grandfather by birth, but he treats her as his own, and she is his only – aside from science. "I'll leave you to your reading; I didn't mean to interrupt." He turns away, then, and she's always suspected that his smile fades once his back is to her._

* * *

With the curtains drawn, she can see a faint glow of moonlight cast about the room. She stares at the gradient of light flowing across the ceiling as a hand slides over the curve of her thigh. He kisses the side of her neck, sending a small shiver through her body. His lips begin to explore – her collarbone, her shoulder, her breast. She runs her fingers through his hair, encouraging, passionate – and he looks up to meet her gaze. She pulls him toward her and they kiss, her tongue in his mouth, hot breath between them. Her lids fall heavy, and she no longer sees him.

* * *

_Celes holds her coppery blade at the ready, knuckles white in tight grip on the handle. Her feet are spread, knees bent in a defensive stance. She risks a moment to shrug her shoulder and wipe the sweat from her face before her sparring partner throws another snake of red lighting in her direction. Her sword catches it like a magnet, and energy explodes around her form. Exhausted, she throws her head back and swings her blade downward, as though shaking off the last drops of absorbed magic._

_"One hundred percent accuracy, yet again," says the dark-skinned man admirably, sheathing his broadsword. "I'm always impressed with your skill."_

_She wipes her brow with the bottom of her tank top, and waits to catch her breath before replying. "Your Shock attack is becoming quite powerful, Leo. It's challenging to keep up with you." She smiles, equally impressed with his development._

_"It's getting really boring, watching you two," says a man lounging off to the side. He has been flicking little balls of fire at ants on the ground. "You're both one-trick ponies. What happens when you face something that resists your specialty?"_

_Leo stiffens with a grimace. "Once I master this technique, I will move onto the next thing. You, however, will excel at nothing with your lack of dedication."_

_The other man smiles, secrets leaping like flames behind his eyes, but remains silent._

* * *

She hums, light vibrations tittering through her lips. Her mouth is on him, around him, caressing him, and his breathing quickens. His body writhes slightly beneath her, and she hears a soft moan. She slowly massages his thighs, and he is pleasantly vocal once more.

Her heart is pounding in love and anticipation. She loves this; she loves him. She loves the quiet sounds he makes, raw, uninhibited, trusting. She knows he took a risk when he opened himself to her, and likewise, her reception and exposure was like stepping up to the edge of a cliff in the dark. Sometimes she still feels the ledge crumble beneath her toes, but mostly, she feels warmth and confidence. Security. Welcoming.

Which is why she doesn't understand this tendency for her mind to wander. With each blink, a slide of film projects itself onto the backs of her eyelids. With each lingering minute she escapes into darkness, a movie flickers before her, a private showing from which she cannot turn away.

She tries to concentrate. But then she begins to doubt and wonder.

* * *

_"You're looking pale these days," Celes notes of the man before her. Harsh sunlight spills through the window of the otherwise-dim chamber, washing out his features even further. He sits in a chair absurdly ornate for his rank, idly playing with a strand of his long, platinum blond hair._

_"Am I? It's intended." And he smiles, his grin always a little too wide, as though mocking._

_Celes cocks an eyebrow and rests her weight on the arm of his chair, peering closer at his face. "Your skin is unnaturally white. What are you doing to it?"_

_"A kind of bleach," he answers simply. And then, anticipating her next question, continues, "Makes me stand out, doesn't it?"_

_"It's unusual, I guess."_

_He puts an arm around her waist and lightly drums his fingers on her leg. She lets him linger there, wondering why she doesn't act on the urge to brush his hand away. She doesn't like being too close to anyone; not just yet. She notices that even the skin of his fingers is lacking in color. His nails have been painted with red lacquer._

_And then before she realizes what's happening, she is pulled off-balance and falls backwards into his lap. He cradles her like a child and her cheeks flush with surprise._

_"Why don't you smile anymore, dear?" He traces her lips with a finger, and she merely stares into his eyes._

_"I feel too cold," she says lifelessly, and he roars with laughter._

_"You've developed a subtle humor; I like it!"_

_She frowns. She'd meant no joke._

* * *

She straddles him, her arms about his neck, his arms around her waist. They pause to embrace, to catch their breaths, to briefly gaze into each other's eyes. He wipes the damp strands of her hair away from her face and she lowers her head to kiss him. The sensual glide of his lips contrasts with the needy throb of himself inside her. She moves to nibble his earlobe, rolling his silver earrings around her tongue, and he wriggles in excitement. He collapses backward onto the plush mattress; she, gripping his shoulders, begins to ride him, her upper body moving like a serpentine dancer.

She watches him for a moment; watches his expression keep no secrets as he nears his climax. Growing tired, she rests her eyes.

* * *

_"Kefka!" she yelps, and pulls back in shock. It wasn't the kiss that surprised her, but the bite he'd planted on her bottom lip. He swoops back in for a second taste and retreats with her blood about his mouth. She feels the color draining from her own face as she watches him paint red up his cheeks like an exaggerated smile. She puts a hand to her lip to feel the wound – curiously deep – and her fingers slip on the blood that quite pours from it._

_"Try it," he beckons, but she wipes her hand onto her trousers. "Just..." Then as if changing his mind, he kisses her a third time, lapping at the blood on her chin and forcing his tongue into her mouth. She feels slightly faint, the strangeness of it all catching her off-guard, but she finds that she doesn't resist. A minute later, she is returning his embrace, the rush of blood and adrenaline to her head enhancing her excitement. She tangles her arms in his capes and scarves – gaudy, attention-seeking adornments – and allows him to ease her backwards onto the cold, metallic shelf._

_Everything about it seems_ wrong _, but she's not sure why – for, at the same time, there's been nothing to say that it isn't_ right _. The confusion sets her heart racing._

_Kefka stops and straightens. Celes sees the blood smeared on his chin and imagines that she must look even messier, her wound still seeping as she waits. He raises both hands to his face, little fingers extended and pointing towards his eyes, and she holds her breath in anticipation. He presses his long nails into the delicate skin below his bottom lids, and, ever grinning, swipes them like razors outward. Blood immediately beads at the incisions, and he runs his fingers down his cheeks, dragging the color over his otherwise-pale face._

_"How do I look?" he asks, and her heart nearly bursts from her chest._

* * *

They lay tangled in each other's arms, resting, waiting for their ragged pulses to calm. Each has been satisfied, each has swam in ecstasy. And each would say, _I am in love_.

Everything about it is safe and sure. Their happiness together is almost guaranteed, with the way things eventually fell into place so perfectly. They work together publicly, make love together privately, and what more is there to hope for?

Yet, whenever she closes her eyes, she cannot stay in the present. It's almost as if... life is _too_ certain anymore.

 _I am in love_ , she thinks, almost insistently.

She looks at him, notes the serene bliss in his expression and demeanor. She remembers the looks of uncertainty and longing he used to give her, before they each overcame their own demons in turn and found comfort in each other's arms. She remembers the doubt, the tension that once kept them apart. She remembers... she remembers too much, it seems.

 _I am in love_ , she thinks, desperately.

Everything about it is... routine. And she is an expert at routine – required for military service, necessary for learning magic – and once she has mastered the routine, it becomes an afterthought; ennui.

She needs the uncertainty. She craves the challenge, the fear, the mystery. And she knows exactly how she came to be this way.

"Is something the matter?" he asks, and she realizes her expression may have betrayed her. She pauses before responding.

"Locke..." she says, then lightly shakes her head. "It's nothing."

She closes her eyes and smiles.


End file.
